


As Magic is a Secret . . .

by GayApril16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Castiel is Older Than Dean Winchester, Castiel is a Novak (Supernatural), Creature Castiel (Supernatural), Cute, Fluff, Gay Undertones, He’s some sorta fantastical being, I Don't Even Know, Illegal Activities, It’s the magic that’s illegal, Kinda, Magic, Meet-Cute, No Smut, One Shot, Prince Dean Winchester, Runes, Secret Identity, Sigils, Tailor Castiel, clean, it’s cute trust me, sorta - Freeform, unbeta’d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayApril16/pseuds/GayApril16
Summary: Castiel is one of the most prized and respected tailors of Terrian nobility. When the Crown Prince uses his store to give his guards the slip, Castiel discovers that there’s more to the prince than most people, including the King, realize.In which magic is illegal, Dean is secretly a bounty hunter for the magical black market, Cas is secretly a magical being, and the last two facts are only ever implied.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	As Magic is a Secret . . .

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even know what this is. I took a writing prompt, formed an idea . . . and ended up writing something completely different. It’s cute, and is a great potential set up to lots of stuff (whatever that may be).
> 
> Also apologies for any typos
> 
> Enjoy!

Castiel made sure to move as silently as possible as he measured the nobleman’s shoulders. The skritching of his pen was the only noise he made outside of the occasional brisk request to lift or lower this or that limb. He worked quickly and efficiently, doing his best to ignore the aimless conversation that the nobleman was having with his companion—something about some sort of strategic game, it seemed.

Castiel stifled a yawn as he jotted down the final measurements. His mind briefly wandered to thoughts of his wonderfully comfortable bed before he debated closing early tonight.

“Tailor,” the nobleman snapped, his foreign accent making the word all the more abrupt. “I do hope you’re close to finishing?”

“I’ve finished with the measurements, my lord,” Castiel replied, looking up at the man. He was a new customer. Shorter, for a noble, but matched perfectly with the ‘greedy businessman’ profile otherwise—from his cold eyes to his larger-than-standard girth to his impeccable sense of dress, the latter of which made Castiel’s job much easier.

“Am I correct in assuming you know what you want, my lord?” Castiel asked, leading the nobleman to the display area. Examples of the most current fashions were displayed by porcelain mannequins—over a dozen different styles for men and women each. 

Castiel felt a small burst of pride in his chest as the nobleman gave a low whistle, his eyes scanning the different outfits.

“And you made all of these _yourself_?” the nobleman confirmed appreciatively. “No outsourcing?”

“Of course.” That was one of the main reasons Castiel had become so successful, after all. He was the only tailor in the capital that didn’t have employees or apprentices do the brunt of the work—or in other words, didn’t provide members of the highest class with clothes that had been created by less-than masters. 

“Quality over quantity, and yet still quite the quantity. I’m impressed.” The nobleman launched into his vision for his new outfit, laying out his wants and peppering Castiel with questions. Castiel was glad to be on the answering side for once, and provided the information as best he could. 

Half an hour later, the nobleman was tottering out of the shop looking smugly satisfied. Castiel waited until the door had closed before letting out his breath. He unthinkingly went to card his fingers over his head, then redirected to flatten his hair instead. As much lenience as he had, being the favorite tailor of many nobles, appearances had to be kept up to snuff.

Castiel was just returning his cloth swatches to their proper places when the gentle chime alerted him to the fact that someone had come in. Castiel glanced toward the door, but the various displays blocked his view.

“Just a moment, sorry,” Castiel called. He tucked the last swatch into place, then strode towards the front—to find a man crouching behind the window display, carefully peeing around a large skirt to see out the windows. He seemed to have not noticed Castiel as he didn’t move.

Eventually Castiel ventured, “Can I help you?”

The man squeaked in surprise, turning quickly—

And Castiel found himself looking down at Dean Winchester, the Crown Prince of Terria. Castiel’s mind short-circuited for a moment, then he quickly gave a small bow, the same as he would for any noble. The customary greeting for royalty was full-on kneeling in respect, but considering the blush that was covering the Prince’s face, Castiel had figured he didn’t want to make the situation any more awkward than it already was for the royal.

“Are you alright, your highness?” Castiel asked when the prince continued to stare up at him.

“I—uh, yeah, I’m good. Sorry.” The prince stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced back out the window, but apparently didn’t see anything as he returned his attention to Castiel. “Sorry for barging in, uh,” he hesitated.

It took Castiel a moment to realize why he paused. “Castiel,” he supplied.

“Castiel,” the prince echoed. Then something in his head seemed to click, and he added, “Novak, I’m assuming?”

“That’s correct.” Castiel tried not to let his voice betray his surprise. He knew he was popular, but not enough so that the _Crown Prince_ knew his name.

Apparently, Castiel wasn’t successful as the prince chuckled. “Yeah, you’re pretty popular. ‘Castiel Novak’ this and ‘Novak’ that are pretty common to hear at balls. People like to show off the stuff you’ve made for them.”

“Oh.” Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that, but a warm glow had formed in his chest.

“Although, they never really mentioned that . . .” The prince cut himself off, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

Castiel did his best not to frown. What had he been going to say?

“Anyway, uh, thanks for letting me hide in here,” the prince said, pulling Castiel out of his speculating. The royal had one hand on the door’s handle, making it very obvious he intended to leave.

“You were hiding? Why?” 

The prince winced. He hadn’t meant to say ‘hide’, had he? “I was shaking my guards. I mean, I understand the sentiment, but I can take care of myself—especially if it’s just to go _shopping_. And the guards bring more attention than I do alone, anyway.” The words were defensive, but practiced.

“You’ve made this argument before, I see,” Castiel commented.

The prince blinked. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

There was a long moment where neither man said anything, by the end of which the prince seemed ready to make a run for it. Castiel, however, was a bit surprised to find that he didn’t want the prince to go.

“You know, you’re still pretty recognizable,”

Castiel said. 

“I’m sorry?”

Castiel had already turned away from him, making his way to one of his storage cupboards. “You’re in a lot more danger of being assasinated if you remain to wander unescorted while remaining so recognizable.”

“I’m not _that_ recognizable,” the prince countered. “It’s not like people regularly see me or anything.” 

Castiel pulled the article of clothing out of the pile, shaking the folds out of it. Perfect. “Even so, it’s fairly simple to identify you by the same method I did.” He started weaving his way back to the prince.

“And what’s that?” the prince asked, just as Castiel emerged from the various shelves. His eyes fell to what Castiel was holding and his eyebrows raised.

“Your clothes,” Castiel stated simply. He held out the item he’d retrieved—a dark leather tunic, slightly worn but still in pristine condition. It was a generic style, one that could belong to a messenger or an errand boy or even serve as a traveling outfit for a noble—effectively, an outfit of high enough status to fit in, but not high enough to be noticed.

The prince took the tunic as Castiel summarized his reasoning, examining it with curiosity.

“It seems to be about your size,” Castiel finished.

The prince absently nodded. “This would fit me perfectly. Although . . .” He flipped the edge of the collar, revealing the inside seam of the tunic—

Which was covered in sigils.

Silently, Castiel swore. “I’m so sorry,” Castiel blurted, already reaching for it. “I’ll—”

The prince jerked the garment out of Castiel’s reach. “Woah! Hey, it’s fine. I like it. I’m just wondering what they do, is all.”

Castiel froze. The prince . . . liked the sigils? But magic was _illegal_. Banned by the King after the Queen—the prince’s _mother_ —died because of it, all of those years ago.

The prince sighed. “Look, you don’t tell and I won’t tell. I just want to make sure that these aren’t curse runes before I wear it.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was more dumbfounded that the prince was familiar with magic terminology or by the fact that he was going to wear a magic-infused tunic.

When Castiel continued to fail to respond, the prince pinched the bridge of his nose. “I . . .” He restarted, “I know this is a strength rune.” He pointed out the rune in question. “And this one I think is a form of protection rune, but I’m not familiar with this dialect.”

“It’s Dicanthi,” Castiel said, surprising himself. “And as such they’re technically sigils, not runes.”

“Huh. Good to know.” The prince twisted the fabric to reveal as many of the sigils as possible. “So, is it gonna blow me up?”

“No, they’re mostly defensive.” As surreptitiously as possible, Castiel pinched his wrist—and it hurt. Not a dream, then.

“Mostly?” the prince asked.

“The other ones are enhancement sigils—they amplify the wearer’s strength and endurance, and most likely the senses too. Although, those would need to be controlled by an experienced magician to actually be of any use.”

“Cool,” the prince breathed. He looked up at Castiel, grinning like a schoolboy—and in that instant all Castiel could focus on was his eyes. Bright and shining and the purest green Castiel had ever seen, but at the same time there was something dark behind them. Something that didn’t seem to fit with the image of the prince that Castiel had been viewing him as.

“So how much is it?”

Castiel blinked. Regretfully looked down at the tunic, mentally calculating the sell price—what the sell price _was_ , back when he was actually selling pieces like these.

That was a long time ago.

“It’s free,” Castiel found himself saying. The prince looked like he wanted to protest, but Castiel cut him off. “It’s not as if I could actually achieve a better price,” he pointed out.

The prince barked out a laugh. “Well, not anywhere you’d want to be associated with, anyway . . .” He trailed off at the end, as if realizing that he was saying something he shouldn’t. 

Castiel squinted at him. Even those who illegally dabbled in magic wouldn’t know that. Only those who, well . . .

The prince cleared his throat. “Anyway. Uh, thank you. For this.” He’d bundled the tunic in his arms, one finger aimlessly tracing the sigils that were visible.

“Of course,” Castiel replied. For a moment he debated saying more, and decided to go with it. “I have a feeling it’s going to be put to good use.”

The prince’s eyes widened fractionally, but it was quickly covered by a practiced smile. Then he was out the door and gone, disappearing into the richest part of the city.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Also if you have any random ideas as to a longer fic for this I’d love to hear them
> 
> :)


End file.
